"We're like the three muskateers," Anita used to say. I don't know about the three muskateers, but I never got nothing from anybody before Greg and Anita came along. They did everything friends could do for each other, even more than my friends from Jersey. And I fucked it up. Just like I fuck everything up.
Being a bartender at Studio 54 was everything I could hope for. I got laid every night, and all the drugs I could handle. I even got some drugs that I couldn't handle. Everyone wanted me. Everyone knew my name.
The day Steve announced that I was going to be the new bartender, the day after I made an ass of myself in his office, Greg punched a hole in the wall. I could hear him under his breath, what he said when he found out. "Fuck it."
That night, after the club, I tried to make it up to him. And I fucked it up even more.
***
I was standing behind the bar mixing a drink for Dottie, the 80-year-old disco queen. All the bartenders were covered in glitter, making their perfect bodies look even more surreal, and the blue lights from the club made us look like glam rock Smurfs. Greg was hurrying around in those tight little shorts we had to wear, so tight we had to stop and pull them out of the crack of our ass.
Greg came behind the bar and stood next to me while I poured Dottie's drink. I could feel him watching me but I was afraid to look over. I handed Dottie her drink and her drugs and she danced away, her skinny arms and hands waving in the air. Still, Greg just stood there.
Finally I looked over at him and shouted over the music. "I'm sorry."
Greg nodded, his face still tight, his eyes hard like I'd stolen from him. Then he shrugged - a forced shrug - and punched me on the arm. "Nah, it's okay. You deserve it." I watched him walk away and didn't really feel any better.
Patti the model, from Vogue or Cosmo or wherever, leaned over the bar and her tits almost fell out of her dress. "Shane, I need to show you something." She wiggled her finger at me and I could see the bright red nail polish on her finger nails, ready to dig into my back.
"I...uh...oh, what the fuck." I threw down the towel and followed her. I didn't usually fuck the same people twice, but it was a slow night.
I felt like there was rift between Greg and me, and it was like the comfort I felt having him around was replaced with ache, like how you feel when you break up with a girl only a thousand times worse. I didn't know what to do about it.
We usually went to the coffee shop after work, but I skipped it that night and went home instead. I laid in bed, staring at the water stains on the ceiling, trying to fall asleep and take my mind off it. But the drugs had me wide awake, and I had a tremor in my hand that wouldn't quit. I tried to jerk off but I couldn't get an image in my mind that would stick. The thing with getting laid whenever you want is that you have to start fantasizing things wilder and more far fetched to turn yourself on. I just laid there.
Greg and Anita came home around four. I could hear her giggle and stumble into their room, probably dancing in a circle before she flopped on the bed. I sat up and listened. I heard a toilet flush. The faucet run. Someone coughed.
I opened my door a crack and saw Greg in the kitchen, leaning against the counter smoking. I stepped into the hallway, the floor cool on the bottoms of my feet, and walked into the kitchen. He saw me and smiled a little.
"Hi," I said quietly, pulling out one of the chairs with my foot and sitting down.
"Hi." He put out his cigarette and tapped his hands on his legs, like he wanted to go but didn't want to be rude.
"I'm sorry," I said. "He just gave me the job. I didn't know." Didn't know what? Didn't know Greg was dying to have that job? Didn't know Steve was going to give it to me instead? I knew both of those things, and it made me feel worse. I walked toward him timidly, putting my arms around his shoulders to hug him, but his muscles tensed. "Don't be mad," I said quietly, and kissed him on the cheek.
"Okay," Greg said, like a grandmother does when she wants you to stop jumping on the bed. "No problem. You're high. Go to bed." He pushed me away a little and I stood back, watching him run a hand through his hair and move away.
"I'm not...." I said, but I don't think he heard me. He just went into the bedroom and shut the door.
***
The thing about working at 54 was that the nights went by like minutes. It was fun mixing drinks for people with expensive jewelry who smiled wide at me as they danced away. Everything in a place like that should have been happy. The other bartenders slapped my ass with the bar towels and said my name like it was something they'd remember forever. But Greg drifted by me, collecting empty beer bottles. When he was mad at me, the minutes seemed like years.
He slid in behind the bar and put the empty glasses in the sink, his shoulder brushing against my arm and feeling like an electric shock. I leaned in and shouted "I'm sorry." He smiled a little and nodded before he hurried away. I wondered if he was doing this on purpose. In front of people, he acted like nothing was wrong, but I could see it in his eyes and it was like a punch in the gut.
When the night finally ended I thought my body would give out. Steve let everyone on this side of the river into the bar and I was sure having that many people in there must have been illegal. And they all wanted to drink. When my shift ended, I hobbled back to the kitchen area, took my shirt and jacket off the old metal hook and went home.
Greg and Anita went to the coffee shop again. I didn't need to see it to know that. They sat there every night, his arm draped lazily around Anita's shoulders, smiling easily at the people who hadn't pissed him off. See, when I was growing up, I never had a brother. My friends had brothers with Playboys and nice cars and good records they lent to their little brothers. I used to imagine what it would be like. Greg was like my brother, in a way. Like a brother, a girlfriend, a best buddy and a landlord all mixed into one.
They came in quietly, Anita heading straight into the bedroom like she hadn't even stopped to look at the flyers of her all dressed up that hung on the wall. I heard Greg go into the kitchen again, his steps slow and sluggish. Then I heard the little snap and hiss of him opening a beer, and the flick of a lighter.
His footsteps were quiet. I could hardly tell where he was going. Then my door opened a little and the light from the hallway shone in my eyes. I could hardly breathe.
I tilted my head back and looked at his silhouette standing there in the doorway, holding a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It seemed like a couple of minutes went by without him saying anything, and then finally he did.
"Why do you have to be so fucking gorgeous?"
My heart was pounding in my chest, my eyes squinting into the light as I tried to find his face in the shadow. "Huh?"
"That's why you got it, you know. Because you're so fucking gorgeous." Then he stepped in the room and shut the door behind him, and there was nothing but dark again. He sat down on the bed, the weight leaning me sideways a little, and put the cigarette in the ashtray on the floor.
"I...I'm sorry." My throat seemed dry and my voice wasn't working very well. I sat up until our heads almost bumped and there was enough light to see his eyes. I reached out and rubbed the back of his neck, leaning forward and brushing his lips with mine before I even knew what I was doing.
He pulled away, planting his hand on my shoulder to push me back. "You know, you can't solve everything with that."
I cleared my throat and stared at him, trying to muster ever ounce of sincerity I had. "I'm not trying to."
Greg sighed deeply and set his beer on the floor, leaning back on the bed so his body was propped up by his elbows. "Shane, what the hell am I going to do with you?"
I shrugged. I knew Greg was the straightest guy who worked at the bar, but something was pulling me closer, like I wasn't going to give in without a fight. I shifted so I was sprawled out next to him and leaned in so our noses almost bumped. "Just let me kiss you. Please."
He closed his eyes for a second, sighing again. "Okay."
So I did. It was even sweeter than I imagined it, him opening his lips so I could slip my tongue in his mouth, tasting beer and cigarettes and something else I couldn't place. It seemed like our tongues would melt together, first in his mouth and then in mine. I wanted to kiss him so hard that it bruised his lips. I wanted to inhale him. I can't describe it. I wanted everything.
My hand fumbled under the waistband of his shorts, finding his cock and stroking it as much as I could under the tight material. "Take these off," I whispered, and to my surprise he did.
I'd never given a blow job before, but I'd gotten a ton of them, so it wasn't like I was totally inexperienced. He laid back and sighed, but it was a different type of sigh, as I scooted down and positioned myself between his legs. I felt something cold and wet on my foot and realized I'd knocked the beer over, but I wasn't about to bring it up.
I let my tongue circle the head of his cock a few times, wanting this to last and make it the most amazing thing he'd ever had. He groaned and tangled his fingers in my hair, bucking his hips a little like he wanted me to get on with it. It felt a little foreign at first, this hot, hard thing moving in and out of my mouth. I couldn't take the whole thing but I went as far as I could, moving my lips up and down, feeling the veins and skin against my tongue.
It didn't last as long as I wanted it to. It wasn't too long before his legs were shaking and his fingers were tugging on my hair so hard that I cringed a little. He was moaning quietly - quietly enough that Anita couldn't hear from their bedroom - and I knew he was getting close. I wrapped my hand around his cock and stroked it like I would my own, lapping my tongue across the head of it, and he moaned "Shane, God!" and came. I stuck my tongue out to catch some of the shots, which tasted dark and salty like hot ocean water.
He laid there for a second, catching his breath, and reached down to pull at my arms. "Come here." I crawled up his body and laid on top of him, resting on my elbows so I wouldn't be too heavy, and he bit my bottom lip. His hands moved down my body, stopping at my ass and squeezing a little. "Tomorrow night," he said, "you fuck me."